


tame our ways (if we start to devise something more)

by xslytherclawx



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - All Media Types, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gay Male Character, Gay Sex, Happy Ending, M/M, Period Typical Attitudes, Post-Narnia, Pre-Book: The Last Battle (Narnia), University
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:21:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21678940
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xslytherclawx/pseuds/xslytherclawx
Summary: University initially wasn’t his plan. But then how do you really come up with a concrete plan for your life knowing that you can never really go back to the one place you really belonged? It was really only at Professor Kirke’s insistence that he even applied.And now here he is.
Relationships: Edmund Pevensie/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 56





	tame our ways (if we start to devise something more)

**Author's Note:**

> This idea was gnawing at me for a little while, so I eventually decided to bite the bullet and write it out. Thanks to Ben for workshopping it with me from a dumb idea into something coherent!
> 
> It's been a solid decade since I've written any Narnia fic, and as it stands, this fic is unrelated to anything else I've ever written. 
> 
> Title from Sufjan Stevens: "The Man of Metropolis Steals Our Hearts"

University initially wasn’t his plan. But then how do you really come up with a concrete plan for your life knowing that you can never really go back to the one place you really belonged? It was really only at Professor Kirke’s insistence that he even applied.

And now here he is. 

Peter helps him move in to the residence hall, and he offers words of encouragement, which helps a bit, sure, but Edmund is still left with the distinct feeling that he’ll be on his own, fully, for the first time in his life.

When he voices that concern to Peter, of course, Peter smiles his most Peter-like smile and says, “You know none of us are ever truly alone, Ed. He’s always with us.”

And that’s all well and good, truly, and Edmund knows that as well as Peter does, but it’s not the same. Lucy is back living with their parents in Finchley, Susan lives in London, and Peter is back with Professor Kirke. Even Eustace, though not Edmund’s first choice, is all the way in Cambridge. He knows he can telephone them, but that isn’t the same.

Just like knowing that Aslan will be there isn’t the same as having the opportunity to run into the Lion Himself.

But he doesn’t argue that point – no use in starting a row when Peter didn’t need to come up at all. He lets Peter take him out for a pint, and listens to his brother tell him how much he’ll enjoy himself, how university will help him find his part in this world, because, “You were always the cleverest of any of us; it only makes sense.”

And then, after Peter leaves, he goes back to his residence hall and wonders if he’s just made a terrible mistake.

* * *

University is different. He knew that it would be, but the magnitude of just how different it is serves as its own form of culture shock.

For one thing, it’s mixed. There are girls as well as boys taking classes together. He knows that his cousin Eustace went to a mixed school – still goes to a mixed school, really – but Edmund never has himself. It’s strange; he isn’t used to girls in his classes or around campus. Most of the boys he knows find it terribly exciting, but Edmund, at most, finds it curious.

His residence hall, at least, only houses men. He can’t imagine his parents would have agreed to this if it didn’t. Even Peter (well, perhaps  _ especially _ Peter) likely would have encouraged him to go off and find a flat on his own with a few blokes. Though Peter wouldn’t realise that that would be  _ worse _ than living in a residence hall with roughly a hundred other young men around his age.

Edmund is under no delusions that everyone expects him to find a girl he gets on with, marry her, move to the suburbs, and have a family. He thinks university is probably as good a place as any to find a suitable wife. 

After all, this is the start of the rest of his life, and he can’t fathom marrying someone who isn’t intelligent and capable of carrying on intellectual conversations. He knows that that’s unusual, at least among men, but, really, one can’t expect him to marry someone with whom he has nothing in common.

Even if he thinks it’s wholly unlikely that he’ll get everything out of marriage that Peter or Lucy or Susan expect, he doesn’t quite find the idea objectionable in and of itself.

* * *

His hall has weekly dinners. It’s supposed to make him feel like part of the community, but all it really does is remind him how very little he truthfully has in common with these people. It isn’t as if he's under any delusions that he’ll find someone else who believes in Narnia. He knows everything there is to know about Narnian history – at least until he left for good – and the only humans to come from his world to Narnia, barring two people who came along with Professor Kirke and Aunt Polly, were those whom he already knows.

But he might be able to find some sort of commonality with someone who’s been a head of state, or general in the War (either War, really), or even, at the very least, someone who’s had an awful lot of responsibility on their shoulders from an impossibly young age.

Unfortunately, most of the men in his residence hall are normal, English young men, with middle class backgrounds, and no real responsibility in their lives.

The library, more often than not, serves as his refuge. Within a week, he’s found a favourite spot (in the back, near a rather large window – close enough to look outside, but not so close that he would be noticeable from the outside), and he sits there nearly every day.

He’s never brought anyone there; it's his place, and his alone.

He knows that isolating himself isn’t healthy, but the only people who can possibly understand are miles away and of no help at all in his current situation.

One day after his final lecture of the day, he goes to the library, as has become his custom. He makes his way to his usual spot, and stops in his tracks when he sees someone sitting there, calmly reading a book.

Edmund has all but made up his mind to find somewhere else to sit when the other boy looks up, and he realises with no small amount of horror that he recognises him. Recognising a classmate isn’t in and of itself horrific, of course. It's the fact that the boy in front of him is someone on whom, Edmund knows in his weaker and less disciplined moments, he's prone to let his gaze linger.

It isn’t as if Edmund hasn’t realised he's prone to certain… inclinations. All in all, he’s lived for nearly thirty-six years, and in that time, he’s gone through puberty. Twice. 

And both times he’s ended up with the same result.

No matter what he did to try to fix it after the first time round.

He’s never told anyone. Not even Aslan. He didn’t know then – and doesn’t know even now – what Aslan would have done, and he hadn’t wanted to find out. The last thing he needed was to be kicked out of Narnia, after everything, for thoughts and inclinations he’s never been able to control (no matter how desperately he’s tried). 

He knows exactly what Peter and Lucy would say if they were to find out: he needs to pray and go to church more often, but he’s done that, and it still hasn’t ameliorated the issue in the slightest. If anything, it’s made everything worse, because if he hadn’t tried it, he could tell himself that that was the solution.

And as for Susan or Eustace – well, he doesn’t know what they’d say, and he doesn’t think he cares to find out. He’s certain it wouldn’t be positive.

So he’s buried it deep inside and he reminds himself – often – of the inevitability of marriage and children. That these inclinations don’t mean anything. He’ll never act on them, after all.

Sometimes he slips up. In class, he might let his gaze linger. He might not avert his eyes in the changing rooms (or worse, in the showers) after a rugby match. Late at night, in the privacy of his bed, he might entertain thoughts he would never dare act on. Though he did that on board the Dawn Treader, too, where he also had several embarrassing mornings – mercifully, Caspian was always far too much of a gentleman to bring it up after the moment had passed.

Edmund knows he’s human. 

He has flaws.

He just needs to keep better control of himself and continue not acting on these impulses.

But the truly remarkable thing is that he’s pretty sure he’s caught this bloke looking back. And in the same way, as ludicrous as it sounds.

It’s the same way the bloke is looking at him now. His gaze lingered too long on certain parts of his anatomy that a red-blooded man would never let himself get caught looking at, and unless Edmund is gravely mistaken, his pupils are dilated as well.

“Pevensie, isn’t it?”

“Er. Yeah. Sorry. I’ll just – I’ll find somewhere else to revise.”

“Nonsense,” he says. “There’s plenty of room here.”

Edmund headed most major diplomatic relations in another country (where he was king) for over a decade. He can find a way out of this without being rude, he’s sure of it. But what comes out of his mouth instead is, “You’re certain you don’t mind?”

“Quite certain,” he says. He moves aside a few of his books for good measure.

Edmund knows better. He knows better. He’s always been the worst of his siblings when it came to resisting temptation (as the most shameful moments of his life can attest to), and the bloke in front of him is as tempting to him now, in this library at their shared university in rainy old England, as a bowl of Turkish Delight was eight years ago, walking out of the Blitz and into a fantastical land where it was always winter.

“If you insist,” he says, slowly setting his bag down. “And I’m terribly sorry – I don’t quite recall your name.”

“Levine.” He offers his hand. “William. Will.”

Edmund shakes it. “Edmund.”

“Pleasure to officially make your acquaintance.”

“Likewise.”

* * *

He’s everywhere after that. Evidently, though they don’t reside in the same residence hall, Will lives quite close to Edmund regardless, and he even has friends who live just down the corridor from him.

He finds himself going to lunch with Will quite often – usually with a group, but sometimes just the two of them. He knows he shouldn’t, because the temptation is really just too strong, but there is nothing wrong with making a friend.

The only thing that’s wrong is where his thoughts go when they’re alone, especially the first time they find themselves alone in his room, where no one can see them or happen by them.

But, well, as long as he doesn’t act on it.

Though Edmund is slowly coming to the uncomfortable realisation that he has a type.

It’s nothing so obvious as a physical type. No, Will looks nothing like Caspian, or even Peridan, let alone the boys he’d fancied in boarding school. Well – except perhaps for the fact that they’ve all been at least a bit taller than him.

But he’s charming. Engaging. He has that quality that Edmund knows well enough to say with confidence that he’d likely be a good king or lord (not that that’s quite a possibility for him in England). When he speaks with Edmund, he lets Edmund forget that there are other people in the room, or even in the world. 

Will doesn’t have any reason to defer to him, not like most of the people he’d met in Narnia, so perhaps it’s not fair to compare him to Caspian and Peridan there, but he can say with confidence that Will, like Caspian and Peridan before him, views Edmund as a person, and seems to genuinely like him.

It’s sort of pathetic that his type boils down to “tall blokes who make him feel like he, as a person, matters”, but such is life.

Another thing every single bloke he’s ever fancied has had in common was not wanting him in the same way. From the beginning, he sincerely doubts Will will be exceptional in that.

Except…

Except Edmund isn’t stupid. Far from it. He rather thinks he's one of the cleverest people he knows. In Narnia, he needed to be shrewd in his political negotiations, and he was quite successful. Even within that, there’d been a need to read people. To determine what they wanted, what they would accept, and what they had to offer.

It isn’t as if, in his abstention, he hasn’t been aware that there were men who wanted him for more than pure political gain. More than a few Calormene men tried to make their move, and even a handful of Archens.

So he doesn’t think he’s being delusional when he comes to the conclusion (after many weeks of developing friendship) that Will, like many foreign dignitaries Edmund dealt with, wants more from him than he’s willing to admit.

It’s hardly as if he's overt enough about it that the truly heterosexual around them might catch on. Hell, if Edmund hadn’t had the very specific experiences he’s had, he doubts he would have noticed.

But it's there.

At least if one knows what to look for.

His gaze lingers just a few seconds too long. There’s sometimes a shadow of something in his eyes when Edmund meets his gaze. He comes up with convoluted excuses to touch him – to clasp his shoulder, to brush his arm, or once even to brush his leg against Edmund’s – and this all coupled with subtle glances and a carefully neutral expression.

No, Edmund isn’t stupid.

He is, however, exceptionally bad at resisting temptation.

Which is why he’s never objected to a pint after a rugger. Or a bottle of scotch in his room with his mates.

One night, after such a bottle of scotch, when nearly everyone else has departed, Will remains. 

It’s a little bit after eight in the evening, and they’re both drunk. Edmund knows they’re both drunk. He’s sure if he were sober, he would find a way to get Will to leave before either of them did anything they regretted.

Edmund has always abstained from acting on these impulses, but it isn’t as if he's never kissed or been kissed. Granted, that’s all been with women, but in the moment, he doesn’t think the mechanics of it all would be too different.

He's aware of that now, as he sits on the edge of his bed, laughing at something Will says. Will is sat at Edmund’s desk, but he's facing Edmund, with his full attention on him.

Will’s expression turns serious. “You’re a Christian, aren’t you Pevensie? I mean – a practising one?”

Edmund nearly says, ‘What else should I be?’, but he stops himself. Will is Jewish, and Edmund himself could well be an atheist, instead, so he says, “I am.”

“Perhaps you can explain something to me.”

“Er – all right.”

“God’s love – your god as well as mine, though, really, they’re the same one at their core – is meant to be unconditional, isn’t it?”

“Yes, of course,” Edmund says.

“And unconditional love, by its very definition is love without any conditions, meaning no matter what, God will love you.”

“That’s right,” Edmund says.

“And Christians also believe that everyone was made in God’s image.”

Edmund hesitates a moment – he’s certainly not a lion, but then he also wasn’t born in Narnia, and perhaps that tenet is more figurative than literal. “Yes.”

“So simply existing as you are – as you were created in God’s image – God will love you.”

“Yes, but I’m not quite sure what you’re getting at, Levine.”

“What I’m getting at,” Will says, “is that I don’t understand why Christians – and a lot of Jews, don’t misunderstand me – accepting that God’s love is unconditional and that we were all created in His image, refuse to believe that those people who have… inclinations not dissimilar to, say, the Greeks – or Oscar Wilde! – for whom it is not – I have read Wilde’s works and his letters – it is not a choice, for these people, for whom a traditional life would be a lie – why, then, would one believe that a god who loves every person unconditionally, who created every person in the Divine Image – that that god would cease this unconditional love and condemn these men and women for existing as they were made?”

“It’s not the existing,” Edmund says before he can think better than to reply. “It’s the action. Acting on those… inclinations. That’s what’s wrong.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean  _ why? _ It’s in the Bible. Isn’t that reason enough?”

“So you follow every commandment laid out within the Bible?”

Edmund frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It’s supposed to mean that no person follows every single commandment in the Bible all the time. Even – now, listen, I’m not Orthodox, and I don’t – I don’t view every commandment as a mandatory obligation – but even those among us who  _ do _ don’t always follow every commandment all the time.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Then what  _ is _ the point?”

“It’s a sin,” Edmund says. “You shouldn’t – you shouldn’t willingly and knowingly sin.”

“But you’re a Christian. Isn’t Jesus meant to absolve all of that for you?”

Edmund is sure something unpleasant flashes across his face. Aslan quite literally died for his Edmund’s wrongs – this isn’t a purely theological angle for him. Not with this. “That doesn’t give one free reign to sin without thought to the consequences.”

“Is  _ all _ non-procreative sex a sin? Or all sex outside of marriage? What makes two men or two women different from a man and a woman?”

“I’m not saying premarital sex isn’t  _ also _ a sin,” Edmund allows.

“Where do you draw the line? Is two men kissing a sin? Holding hands? Is mutual masturbation acceptable, or does it have to be penetrative? And where would that leave –”

“Levine,” Edmund says.

Will stops, and for a split second, the look of real, true fear in his eyes is impossible to ignore, but as soon as Edmund spots it, it’s gone, replaced by something neutral and guarded and careful. “Yes?”

Edmund knows the law. He knows that the Crown has deemed his inclinations – which Will almost certainly shares – immoral and illegal to act upon. He knows he won’t be pulled back to Narnia and spared at the last moment if he’s caught. If he’s caught… that’s it. He knows that. He’s certain Will knows it too.

Edmund isn’t sure what to say, but for some reason the words out of his mouth are, “At any rate, it’s illegal.”

Will rolls his eyes. “The law is not – and never has been – an arbiter of morality. And that doesn’t answer my question. Where do you draw the line?”

“This isn’t hypothetical for you,” Edmund says softly.

“Nor is it for you,” Will says.

Edmund has noticed Will’s gaze all night. When it hasn’t been burning into his – dark brown on dark brown – it’s been on his throat, his lips, his arms, even his cock.

But he thought he was safe. Careful. He thought he wasn’t being obvious. He knows now that that isn’t the case.

“I’m not going to expose you,” Will says. His voice is quiet and even. Sure of himself. “You haven’t got to worry about that.”

“I didn’t think you would,” Edmund says. He meets Will’s gaze, even though he’s certain that how much he wants this is written clearly on his face.

And then, shocking even himself, he stands up and locks his door.

Will stands. His expression is open and vulnerable, but he doesn’t move or speak.

Edmund understands without needing to ask that the first move will need to be his. If he’s really doing this. He wants to do this. He wants to know how this will be different from kissing a girl. If it’s really worth it. Maybe part of him is hoping that it won’t be. 

He’s hoping he’ll be disappointed. That the real thing won’t live up to his fantasies.

Maybe that’s what he needs to move on with his life. Find a girl, get married. Know that he’s made the right choice.

So he steps close to Will. 

They’re breaths apart.

He leans in – just slightly. Angles his head. Moves in so that his lips nearly brush Will’s.

And then they’re kissing.

And it's so much better than kissing any girl ever was. Will’s lips are slightly chapped and warm, and before Edmund is fully aware of what’s happening, their hands are in each other’s hair, on skin, pulling off clothes.

They’re half-naked when Will pulls away to ask, “Pevensie – Edmund. Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Not at all,” Edmund admits. “But it feels right.”

He goes to pull Will back in for a kiss, but Will steps away. “I don’t want to be your experiment,” he says.

“What do you mean experiment?” Edmund asks.

“I mean,” Will says, “I don’t want to do this only to have you turn around tomorrow morning and tell me you’re completely heterosexual.”

Edmund frowns. “Will,” he says, trying out the name he’s been saying in his head for so long, “I’m  _ well aware _ of my own inclinations. I can’t say I’ve  _ always _ been aware of them, but – for years, at least.”

“And what was all that about acting on it being a sin?”

“That’s true,” Edmund says. “But – doing this with a woman outside of marriage would  _ also _ be a sin, and… and you don’t see many blokes our age pretending they’ve never done that. Including – well, any number of Christians. And if that makes me a hypocrite – Will,” he says again, “I’m doing this because I have spent a not insignificant amount of time wondering what this would be like with you – all of it, not just kissing.”

“O-oh,” Will says.

“Though, obviously, if you’d like to keep it just at kissing, that’s – I haven’t got any objections.”

Will steps close to him again and kisses him. Edmund pulls him close. This is electrifying, and while he’s not exactly thinking on the highest cognitive plane at the moment, he knows he wants more.

Edmund reaches for Will’s belt buckle, and Will doesn’t pull away. He kisses Edmund’s neck, and it makes Edmund sort of a bit weak at the knees. This is so much  _ more _ than anything he’s ever done before, and he should feel a gnawing anxiety about it – and maybe he does, but if he does, it’s completely overwhelmed by excitement and anticipation.

He manages to get Will’s belt undone, and he unbuttons Will’s trousers. Will helps him pull them down, never once stopping kissing him. They stumble toward the bed and kick off their shoes, and then – then, Will is wearing nothing but his shorts, garters, and socks.

The shorts really do  _ nothing _ to hide his erection, and Edmund realises in that moment that he’s actually going to go through with this. He wants to, but then he’s always known he’s  _ wanted _ to touch other boys in that way – this is, really, the first time he’s felt safe enough in an opportunity to try it.

But then Will is pulling the rest of Edmund’s clothes off, and after Edmund goes to step out of the pile of his trousers and shorts, Will asks him to sit down on the bed.

So he does.

He thinks Will is going to take his garters off – which he does, so slowly and gently that the act itself is almost erotic – but then Will settles in between his thighs, and Edmund is acutely aware of just how close Will is to his cock.

Will looks him right in the eyes as he says, “I want to take you in my mouth. Will you let me?”

Edmund nods and watches as Will does just that, and –  _ shit, _ it’s probably the best thing to ever happen to him. He’s thought a lot about what this would feel like, and it’s somehow nothing like how he’d thought it would be and so much better. 

He balls his fists in his sheets and manages to warn Will in time. He’s barely come down and Will is cleaning him up, and then kissing him again, settling into the bed properly, on top of him. Will’s still wearing his shorts, but except for that, every inch of him is exposed, and Edmund can’t get enough of Will’s skin on his as Will trails kisses down places that ought not to be that sensitive.

Edmund is well aware of the stream of profanities coming from his mouth, and from the look in Will’s eyes, he’s enjoying it.

“Oh, shut up,” Edmund manages.

Will kisses down his chest. “I thought you were a good Christian boy.”

“This was my idea, wasn’t it?” He pulls Will back up for a kiss. “Are you saying I can’t be a good Christian boy and do this?”

“Of course I’m not,” Will says. “I would never dream of it. But the cursing, on the other hand…”

To prove his point, or maybe just to get rid of the last flimsy barrier between them, Edmund meets Will’s gaze and tugs a bit at his shorts. Will gets the hint and helps Edmund strip them off. And there he is – completely naked.

“Jewish boys are all circumcised,” Will says when he catches Edmund’s gaze, almost as if on reflex.

“All right,” Edmund says. It’s not as if he’s drawing on a wealth of experience here. “Does that mean anything beyond the obvious? Is there anything you – you can’t do, or…?”

“No; nothing like that,” Will says. “Just, y’know, I haven’t got a foreskin.”

“Can I… touch you?”

Will kisses him. “Only if you want to.”

“Of course I want to,” Edmund says. “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t want to.”

Will nods, so Edmund reaches out and takes him in his hand. It’s odd. Different from touching himself, obviously. But it also feels right, in its own way. He pays attention to how Will reacts, and adjusts what he does accordingly, and in the end, Will climaxes in Edmund’s hand, leaving a sticky mess between them.

Will rolls off of him to lie in the tiny space between Edmund and the wall, and Edmund manages to maneuver to pick up his shorts from the floor and wipes them clean.

Then he kisses him. Perhaps that’s a bit too much, but Will doesn’t seem to mind one bit. They kiss for a while – Edmund isn’t sure how long, though he is peripherally aware that time is passing and it’s probably quite late.

Will doesn’t try to do anything else, although Edmund sort of gets the feeling that he wants to. He doesn’t think he’d object to more, but some part of him is a bit glad that this seems to be it for now. It’s a bit easier to adjust to, having done this.

Will spends the night. Edmund is well aware that this is one step too far, that spending the night crosses some invisible line. He can let another bloke suck his cock, he can wank that same bloke off, but sleeping together, peacefully, without the intent to do anything else… it’s admitting the reality.

But he doesn’t want Will to leave. So he kisses him and pulls him close.

* * *

Edmund wakes up the next morning with Will’s back pressed flush against his chest, and Edmund’s first thought isn’t regret or despair or anything even vaguely resembling that. His first thought is that he's actually stayed. And that thought, to his surprise, made him feel pleasantly warm inside.

He should feel bad. He should feel terrible, but all he can feel is… content.

He wouldn’t go so far as to say that he’s  _ in love _ with Will, or anything, but he does quite like him, and lying here with him is nice.

He wonders if this – or something close to it – is why Susan’s changed.

He doesn’t think he can blame her if it is.

He isn’t sure how long he lays there, even though it’s Sunday morning and he ought to be at church. It’s strangely peaceful.

After a while, he feels Will start to stir. “Morning.”

“Good morning,” Edmund says. 

Will moves his head to look at something. “Is that really the time?” he asks. “Shouldn’t you be at church?”

“It’s one service,” Edmund says. “I’ll go next week.”

Will takes Edmund’s hand and laces their fingers together. Then, to Edmund’s surprise, he pulls Edmund’s hand up to his lips and kisses it.

“We should, er, talk about this,” Edmund says.

He feels Will stiffen in his arms. “Oh?”

“Yes.”

“I suppose this is the part where you tell me last night was a horrid mistake, and it can never happen again.” There’s a resigned note to his voice that makes Edmund’s stomach churn. Has someone done that to him before? What an absolutely wretched thing to do to someone – anyone – let alone someone as kind as Will!

“No,” Edmund said. “I told you last night I wouldn’t do that, and I meant it. Instead, I thought I’d start by asking you what you want to come of this, and go from there.”

“Oh,” Will says. “You really want to know what  _ I  _ want?”

“Of course,” Edmund says. “Now, obviously, there’s a limit to what we can do – we both know going public isn’t an option. We’d both only get arrested. But that’s not to say…  _ nothing _ can come of this.”

“I’d – I’d quite like to do this again. If that’s something you’d like, too.”

He knows he ought to say no. But the night before was so unbelievably amazing and wholly pleasant that against all better judgement, he wants to do it again. He knows in that moment, if Will agrees to it, he  _ will _ do it again.

“I would,” Edmund says. Will shifts and turns around in his arms. They’re nose to nose, and Edmund adds, “Though… on a few conditions.”

“Which are?”

“I – obviously, we’d need to use discretion when considering telling anyone, and I’d like to, er, agree that we’d discuss that first, if such a thing were to happen.”

“All right,” Will says. “That sounds reasonable.”

“And, er… I’d prefer you not… do this with anyone else. I won’t, either, but…”

Will kisses him, and in spite of the morning breath (mixed with stale beer and scotch, at that), Edmund feels himself melt just a bit more. “So we’d just… do this with each other?”

“If that’s all right?” 

“That’s more than all right,” Will says. He reaches his free hand out – slowly, almost hesitantly – and cards his fingers through Edmund’s hair. “Ed?”

“Yeah?”

“Was last night the first time you… had been intimate like this with another man? It’s all right if it was, but…”

Edmund can feel himself blush. “Yes,” he says. He knows it’s obvious, and lying about it wouldn’t serve anyone any good.

“It wasn’t mine,” Will says. “Though I think you probably knew that already.”

“I don’t mind,” Edmund says. He kisses Will for good measure. Will kisses him back, and Edmund allows himself to lose himself a bit in it. Will’s cheeks are a bit scratchy from not shaving, but Edmund actually finds he likes it.

This isn’t anything like the hungry, desperate actions of the night before. This is slow. Intentional. Will trails kisses down Edmund’s bare neck, and Edmund has to fight back a gasp. After all, it’s the time of day when people are up and about, and even though Edmund’s door is locked, being quiet is hardly a bad idea.

“I quite like you, you know,” Will says into the crook of Edmund’s neck. He doesn’t meet Edmund’s gaze, and Edmund understands. Sex is one thing, but this is a completely different sort of vulnerability.

“I quite like you, too,” Edmund says.

Will kisses that spot on his neck. “Good.”

* * *

It’s past time for lunch when they finally manage to get dressed and leave his room. They decide the best course of action is to feign terrible hangovers and say, if asked, that Will spent the night on the floor because he lives too far away to feel confident he could get home safely.

No one asks.

**Author's Note:**

> after all is said and done, i sincerely doubt edmund becomes an atheist or anything of that nature, and I'm definitely a reform jew of the same camp as will - any god who loves unconditionally would also love lgbt people - such a god would, in all likelihood, include aslan. but also we all know that very thought would make c.s. lewis turn in his grave.
> 
> feel free to visit me on [tumblr](http://xslytherclawx.tumblr.com/)!


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